


Our Mojo

by EvasiveCupid



Series: Fix-its, Additions, and Whatnots [3]
Category: Lucifer (TV)
Genre: F/M, Fix-It of Sorts, I'm Bad At Tagging, Light Angst, Lucifer Feels, Spoilers, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-10
Updated: 2020-09-10
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:15:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26385502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EvasiveCupid/pseuds/EvasiveCupid
Summary: My take on the ending of 05x07. I really like this scene in the show, but I just wanted to put my own little spin on it. I hope that you enjoy! Some dialogue taken directly from the show, but extrapolation is my own.Chloe and Lucifer stand on his balcony, wondering aloud where they are, and where they are going.
Relationships: Chloe Decker/Lucifer Morningstar
Series: Fix-its, Additions, and Whatnots [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1741963
Comments: 11
Kudos: 149





	Our Mojo

Looking out over the Loss Angeles, it appears that every window is filled with a small firework that halted mid-explosion, lights blaring out of the city that never sleeps. Brighter still is the road, singing a cacophony of horns and expletives as the night-goers make their way home. Light pollution frames the scene in a clear glare, a cover blanketing long ago painted masterpiece. His magnum opus, the stars. The cold metal railing stings through his clothing, the warmth it collected during the day giving way to the more bearable temperature of the night. He plays his fingers against each other, thrumming them along to create a noiseless beat as he stares out into lights that could never rival his own. His onyx waistcoat pulls around his sides, fitted white dress shirt stretching around his shoulders while he leans his weight into his forearms. Her hand is a brand against his nape, nimble fingers playing against the soft hairs there. The Silver City was always a fluttering warmth, where Hell was smoldering embers. Neither quite match her, and he revels in her open radiance and comfort. Her hand drifts to his shoulder, a grounding weight while his consciousness ebbs and flows through his thoughts. He’s roused by her voice, soft and apologetic, but not piteous.

“Because you’re vulnerable… I sometimes forget how strong you are.”

The brand licks down his arm, igniting his bicep.

“How powerful.”

She grips his forearm and his eyes drag to her, deep chocolate meeting sparkling light green. Los Angeles winks back at him through those eyes, his home standing before him in so many ways.

“Less and less, as you’re well aware.” He glances away, expression contemplative and lost. Gulps down a sip of whiskey. Stares out at those lights that will never be anything but dim in the wake of his light.

“Feeling human… Feeling weak, having to rely on other people – it must be so hard, so… Scary for you.” Her focus is completely centered onto him, brows drawn down in concern, the corners of her lips neutral. He scoffs softly and turns further away from her, locking on to the city that he holds so dear; an old friend welcoming him where the rest of the world seems to shun. He shakes his head and looks not-quite at her, voice taking on veiled frustration, “I suppose what I call powerlessness is what everyone else calls a Tuesday.

He straightens so that they’re no longer should-to-shoulder, gripping the railing in his left hand and the tumbler in his right. His gaze is on her now, faint mirthless chuckles escaping them. Smiling faintly and taking another sip from his drink, he looks to her as she continues.

“Lucifer, I understand why you’re _so_ upset,” she emphasizes this with her hands, looking down at them to avoid the weight of his gaze, “You lost your mojo.” She finds the strength to look back up. “Of course it’s a bad thing.” His gaze takes on that lost look to it again, as if he’s in disbelief of it being gone, or perhaps the sincerity in her empathy. He looks away, brought back by the uptick in wonder that colors her words, “but I just wonder if it could also be a good thing.

Laughter bubbles out of him, uncontrollable, doubtful, his lips ticking up though there’s no real joy in his eyes. “Wha – now you’re just spewing nonsense."

“I – I’ve been thinking, and the fact that I can mojo you,” hope tugs at him from his irises, a plea to find a hint of positivity in their unwilling situation. His brows are contemplative. “Maybe it means that I’ve just put a, a tiny dent in the giant wall that you erected around yourself.” He shifts his gaze away. “ I think, perhaps, for the first time ever, you’re starting to open up to me. To let me in.” She says it with a little nod, as if convincing herself of the words as the breeze through her teeth. 

Deep pools of umber alight with something like realization, and a lot like fear.

“Quite right. I think I may have dropped my guard.”

She smiles, but inside he’s spiraling, desperately trying to re-enforce those cracking foundations with mental trowel and cement. He guards it well, giving no indication to her that her words have sent him into free-fall, his world slipping out from under wing-tipped feet. She steps forward then, cradling his stubbled cheek in her palm. The other reaches to his lower hip, warm through his trousers, and he’s helpless but to drop his own on her waist and lean into her searing kiss. Lucifer, usually giving himself into her kisses without preamble, is hesitant. Chaste. He leans not towards, or away from her, simply standing there frozen. Chloe drags her fingers along his jaw as they part, smiling at him. He returns it in kind, though small and reserved. It’s here that she pauses, really taking him in. Her smile faulters and she takes a moment to just observe the man in front of her. How his eyes have become large in the soft glow of the city, his shoulders stiff and tense. Eyes clouding with concern, she watches as he throws back the rest of his copper beverage. Her hands move back to his cheeks before she’s cognizant of the movement, thumb swiping lightly over his chilled, moistened lips. “Lucifer, there’s nothing wrong with being vulnerable. Especially around me. Isn’t it tiring, constantly holding yourself alert?”

He’s still beneath her hands, baring a slight tremble that she’d have never noticed if she wasn’t holding him, his skin shivering against her fingertips.

“Darling, it’s not about that. I’ve lost my power over other people. Lost what made me a valuable asset for our job, lost… lost a part of myself. Who am I, if not the king of desire?”

Heart throbbing for him, she rasps her fingers over his stubble. “What if you haven’t? What if my having the power over you led you to unconsciously remove it from yourself? If we believe in the theory of self-actualization, wouldn’t it make more sense that you believed you lost your power, therefore you did?”

“ _Cogito, ergo sum._ I think, therefore I am. Descartes. An interesting fellow, he was. Very full of himself.” She rolls her eyes and smiles at him as he grins lecherously. “An interesting theory, my dear detective. But that still doesn’t account for your ability to draw out desires from _me_.”

Nodding, Chloe stares into his eyes. It clicks then, a mere moment later. “What if it’s part of my being a miracle? If I’m the only human who’s able to see you, for who you truly are… maybe I’m also the only human that can draw out your true desires.” He’s frozen again, eyes wide in front of her. Chloe is quick to soothe, moving a hand through his hair. “Don’t look so afraid. After so long, longer than I can even comprehend, you have someone to ask what _you_ desire, not the other way around. To be taken care of, instead of being the caretaker. To truly indulge, to take rather than give.”

He’s silent, and she can’t tell if that’s good or bad. His expression is unreadable, a mixture of so many things that she can’t possibly categorize them all. Standing above them all, however, is awe.

Awe, and longing.

“Lucifer,” she calls out to him softly, arms curling around his neck. “What do you truly desire?” A whisper on the wind that is barely there, yet it seems to blow him over with all the power of a tornado. He buckles, sitting back into the chair behind him, and she follows. His eyes are glued to hers, wet and shiny.

"You, Chloe. All that you are, all that you will be, all that you’ve been.”

Long, lean arms cling to her as she clambers onto his lap and wraps around him, pressing his head against her shoulder. 

He inhales deeply and pulls her even closer, a lifeline in the dark. 

Below them, the traffic has faded into almost nothing, the city finally sleeping as the lights blink out one by one. Finally, a few stars come out of hiding, rearing their heads and blinking high above. And as they appear, shining into existence one by one, the Morningstar glows to meet them.


End file.
